December 27, 2005

Last ABC Monday night game, same score as the first ABC Monday night game, etc. I was going to write a whole thing about that, but everyone and their asshole uncle has already talked about it at exhaustive length and repetition, come to find out.

The Patriots last night were absolutely dominant. As the commentators mentioned (they having dialed their "Snark" up to "11" for this farewell performance) after the opening drive, "I don't know if we just watched a perfect opening drive...or surgery."

That's how it felt, for pretty much the whole game. The Patriots absolutely eviscerated the Jets, with the exception of the handsome pick by Ty Law (now with more juice in the caboose!). They scored back-to-back touchdowns on the same play--the play that features a touchdown catch in the back of the end zone by Mike Vrabel.

When our linebacker is playing tight end and our runningbacks would have to run on their hands for a challenge, it's gotta be humiliating for the other team. Just really must suck to be them. Insult to injury, there was no beer in the stands so as to anaesthetize the fans. This led to the phenomenon of the sarcastic cheer when the Jets finally managed a first down late in the third quarter; the sarcastic cheer being the sign of ultimate pain among a fan base. Ouch.

Don't think Belichick has forgotten the time the Jets owner stood in front of God and everybody and called him a crazy man.

Despite the margin of victory, Brady didn't have such a good game. He under-threw and over-threw on several occasions and his accuracy just didn't seem like it was where he wanted it to be, at least. He had that sullen face that makes me flash back to 2002 and start worrying and worrying that there's something wrong with him, although he was probably just frustrated. Please, he was just frustrated?

Anyway, in my Googling of "Tedy Bruschi" this morning, the better to see if his leg is severely broke or just a little broke (of course you can't find out), I come upon the latest j'accuse from various writers around town...

Sure the Pats won last night, and continued their push to the playoffs, but what is momentum without the guy who miraculously returned from a stroke, and has been hugely responsible for righting the defense?

Will they lose their edge should Bruschi have suffered an injury that would keep him out of the playoffs? It’s one thing to make it by a team that’s going nowhere, as they did against the Jets. It’s another when the Indys and Denvers of the world come calling.

Talk about a momentum killer.

"With the playoffs two weeks away, the goal last night wasn’t so much to beat the Jets as escape with everyone healthy," writes John Thomase. "So instead of celebrating a 31-21 win over the Jets this morning, Pats fans find themselves fretting about the Patriots’ inspirational and literal leader."

Here we go again. Can't stand it when they speak for Pats fans. Or Sox fans. Or any fans. Speak for yourself, sure, but leave us out of it.

Am I worried about Tedy? Sure. Do I think it would be terrible for him to be hurt after all he went through to come back? Absolutely. Does that mean I'm not happy they beat the Jets? Fuck no. They need the wins right now.

This isn't a 14-2 season. The wins could dictate favorable matchups. The wins dictate higher seedings. We're 10-5 right now, and the only way to finish with a respectable season record as a playoff team is to be 11-5. That means beating the Jets and beating Miami. Hell, this team--all of them--need the practice right now to prepare for more formidable opponents.

I agreed with Bill Belichick last night when he said, in answer to these "Do you think you should've rested guys? Do you think you made the wrong decision?" questions (where it was not about the decision to rest guys, it's the decision to play some starters on special teams), "We play to win. And that's it. That's all we do. That's the only way I know how to do it." He's not playing any differently--not resting guys, not letting up. I, for one, am happy to see Belichick being the same Belichick. That's worked out pretty well so far.

So, generally, if you think--as these pieces seem to imply--that Tedy Bruschi was hurt because of a poor decision on Belichick's part; in other words, if you think, after all we've seen in the last four years, that Bill Belichick doesn't know what he's doing, then kindly take a long walk off a short pier. That's just all I can say about it.

Kind of sad that to find any optimism about the Patriots, you have to read New York Newsday:

New England did get a scare when Bruschi, who had made a stunning return and keyed the defensive resurgence during the past two months, was carted off with a leg injury in the first half.

If he can't go in the playoffs, it will be a huge loss. But with the two-time defending champs sniffing the finish, the Pats might yet overcome his absence with another stirring playoff performance.

Is that how this works? If you want to read good things about your team, you have to read the columnists writing on the other side, the better to make their respective fan base feel bad?

_____________________________________________________________P.S. In fairness, this piece by Amalie Benjamin in the Globe about Mike Vrabel is sweet:

Vrabel has eight career receptions. Vrabel has eight career touchdowns, with two coming in Super Bowls.

For the season, the linebacker stands tied for second on the team in touchdown receptions (three) with fellow tight ends Benjamin Watson and Daniel Graham. He is also tied for second with four touchdowns overall; one came as part of his day job, an interception return.

Great quote from Benjamin Watson, too, showcasing that Patriots attitude:

''He's doing a good job so far," Watson said. ''I don't worry about it. It's just another benefit we have, that we can put him in there in a skill position like that and he can score for us.

''As long as we [are] winning the games, that's what counts. He been doing it longer than me. He's been doing it here for longer than I have. I need to take advice from him."

Here's the deal, no word of a lie: I saw Jeff Reardon blow a save when I was about ten years old, after Roger had made a good start (at least, in my memory). Jeff Reardon had the misfortune to be the first guy to blow a save in my presence, and thus the first guy to have to prompt my dad to explain what a blown save was, and also to tell me, to my enraged disbelief, that what Reardon had just done had ruined all of Roger's good work.

Irrational as it was, I hated Jeff Reardon from that moment on. Absolutely hated the guy. It was totally unfair, of course: Reardon was a solid pitcher with a long career and an instrumental role in the Twins' 1987 World Series win. I'm sure Roger wasn't the golden god I thought he'd been that day--he probably left Reardon with a one-run advantage and men on base. But at the time, I didn't care. Roger was winning and Reardon fucked it up. Nuf ced.

So when YFSF linked to this story and I saw the name, I laughed out loud. It's sad what has apparently happened to him, but I still can't help chuckling, just remembering.

When writing my post a few days ago, "Time for a good old fashioned media fisking", it seemed clear to me that the media, without exception, were promoting if not outright creating the feeling of panic and doom over the Damon signing in New York.

But today I belatedly came across this unsigned Globeeditorial, which pretty much, word for word, is exactly how I feel:

MAYBE IT'S the weather, or maybe the fixation on damnation bequeathed to this region by Cotton Mather, but, judging by their extreme grief over the departure of Johnny Damon, New Englanders appear to be suffering from apocalypse-expectation syndrome. The mourners in Red Sox Nation need a new paradigm. They need to unlearn all their superstitions about grace and doom, which local pessimists assign respectively to New York and Boston despite the Great Inversion of October 2004.

Think of it this way: George Steinbrenner may be exactly the sort of dunderhead he is portrayed as being in episodes of ''Seinfeld." Like other plutocrats, he knows the price of everything and the value of nothing. For the last four years, he has shelled out obscene sums of money for big-name players with bad backs, sore arms, and steroid-distorted statistics. Then he watches as his overpaid, over-the-hill millionaires fail to win a championship or even reach the World Series.

The Boss has been replicating a familiar pattern of the filthy rich, who go from amassing a fortune in something they know to squandering it in pursuits, such as art collecting and horse racing, about which they know very little and for which they require insiders' advice. Often they buy their ornamental trophies at the top of the market. They overpay for overblown reputations. They acquire the most fashionably bred yearlings for auction-topping sums only to learn their Derby hopeful has bad ankles or shin splints or a severe case of the slows. And so it goes on the diamond as well, where Steinbrenner's high-priced stars go on cashing checks for what they did in some other city, for some other team, in seasons past.

So now the Boss has bought Damon for $52 million, guaranteed, over the next four years. Marvelous as the beloved Idiot was in that championship season of '04, Red Sox fans need to cast a cold eye on the future value of a weak-armed 32-year-old center fielder stationed through 2009 in the great expanse of Yankee Stadium. They need to imagine the possibility that Steinbrenner has once again mortgaged the Yankees' future to purchase an aura of the past.

Think of it this way: If Theo returns to Fenway like Achilles returning to the plains of Troy, if newcomer Jonathan Papelbon fulfills his destined role as the next Roger Clemens, and if the Bosox find a shortstop somewhere and a center fielder to replace Damon, New Englanders may realize that the end of days was never as near as it seemed. One bearded idiot may have skipped town, but the sun will set, the sun will rise, new heroes will take to the field in Fenway, and one day it may be revealed that the decision to hire Damon in the Bronx was made by George Costanza.

Call me a homer, but I think this is the kind of editorial bias we have the right to expect from our hometown media, if we are supposed to expect any--and I want to give credit where credit is due.

December 23, 2005

I've finally been sucked in by another one of those Internet cults. This time it's Frappr. I've created a group there called Cursed to First...come add yourself to my map or make posts to the forum!

Update: So far I'm surprised and thrilled with the group that's already starting to form. People from Seattle, Texas, California and France came out of the woodwork and mapped themselves--what a Christmas present for me! Obviously participation in this is voluntary, but I'd LOVE it if as many people as possible would put their pin in the map. I'd love to see how far this can go!

Also, if you click on Group Photos, I've opened up the archives of my "Right Click, Save" collection of Internet Curiosities, Sports Wing. Feel free to add your own miscellaneous Sox / Patriots photos if you join the group. Propaganda from any other opposing teams, or content judged not in keeping with the spirit of the group, will be summarily deleted.

Otherwise, I've survived the attemps by not one but two families to feed me to death. Best sports related gift I got yesterday: Red Sox floor mats for my car. Most terrifying sports-related gift I saw yesterday: my FH's cousin, who is a Yankees fan, got a women's babydoll T that says "JETER GIRL. ENOUGH SAID." And it was PINK. I actually did try to hide my reaction and be polite about it, but just about everyone pointed and laughed at the involuntary face I made. Meanwhile another member of this same branch of the FH's family also got a Yankees Santa Claus figurine; they already have a Derek Jeter ornament on their tree. It did make me question for a moment if I really could marry into this family, but most of the rest of them are Red Sox fans--and the branch that are Yankees fans actually used to be Red Sox, but the father of the family told me he left the Red Sox bandwagon in 1980 after they had let Carlton Fisk and Fred Lynn go. Which strikes me as a sad, rather than outrageous story. And a little bit weird, because I was born in the summer of 1980, into Red Sox fandom, and so no matter how many Sox fans leave the fold in protest, a new sucker's being born every minute--almost literally--to take their place.

Anyway.

I will be spending the day and possibly the week hibernating. I may even watch March of the Penguins--that's how slow I'm taking stuff. Of course, every time I say I won't be blogging on my day / weekend / week off, I end up getting bloggerhea, but at the moment, anyway, I don't forsee updating every day this week. Just FYI.

For those of you lost without Red Sox blog content, I recommend Sam's Eight Days of Red Sox Chaunukah series. The first installment is here.

December 22, 2005

The news has just been reported that Indianapolis Colts coach Tony Dungy's 18-year-old son James was found dead in an apartment in Tampa, FL.

I've talked a lot of smack on this blog about how I feel about the Colts as a team, but that doesn't mean I don't recognize that they're human beings, and this...this is one of those moments when sports look stupid and frivolous and trivial and I feel like a jackass for some of the strong words I've used.

My heart goes out to Tony Dungy and his family in the midst of this tragedy.

Hooray! I know you're all overjoyed I'm going to revisit this tired subject again. But after reading this article, I just can't let it go. I'm sorry. I can't let this one slide.

I first read that piece, "Damon defection talk of town", last night, and immediately my vision was overwhelmed with a terrible blinding red...I could feel my skin begin to smolder...for a while there, it was touch and go whether or not I was going to spontaneously combust.

I don't really know who I'm mad at, exactly--the MLB reporter for their lazy roundup piece encompassing only the low-hanging fruit? Or the people they quote in the article as "representative" of Sox fans, or even prevailing opinion in Boston, for misrepresenting it so terribly?

Probably both.

This piece just struck home for me just how divorced my reality has become from the Boston sports media's reality in my year or so of abstention from WEEI and the Globe sports page. The longer I avoid it, the more alien its content becomes.

First there's Glenn Ordway's quote:

"I think they were calling [George] Steinbrenner's bluff," said Glenn Ordway, host of the "Big Show" on WEEI. "They did not believe that the Yankees were going to come in and pay more money for him.

Later, he added: "It was a card game. It was a poker match and they thought the Yankees were bluffing them."

How does he know this? I didn't listen to the show, so I don't know if he cited any sources. But let's think about Glenn Ordway for a second. Do you think he has credible sources backing up his view of how the negotiations went? Or do you think he's just taking the most hysterical viewpoint possible in order to stir up callers to his show?

By the way, the callers quoted in this piece are less than credible, since everyone knows after listening to Ordway for a week that if you don't agree with everything he says, and call up and say so, you're going to get shouted down. Period. The Big O show is an echo chamber akin to Rush Limbaugh or Howard Stern. It does not represent reality.

Ordway was joined by Tony Massarotti of the Boston Herald.

"Now, to replace him, you have to start creating holes in other places," said Massarotti. "Now, they're going to have to overpay. Teams know they have the Red Sox over a barrel."

Wow. My blood pressure just zoomed into the red zone reading that again, even though I knew it was coming this time. I really can hardly stand it. I mean...it's bullshit. It's just bullshit. Apparently we've never lost a free agent before? Apparently there's never been a hole to fill in the off-season before? I'd like to see just how many other MLB teams "know" they have the Red Sox, with their $130 million payroll, playoffs three years in a row, among the largest sports markets in the United States, and recent World Series championship, "over a barrel."

Get real.

This is not...repeat...not how most of the Sox fans I speak with now on a regular basis remotely feel. I doubt Massarotti's take has ever even crossed their minds (and let's not forget it was Massarotti that defended Grady Little before the dust had even cleared on Game 7). And yet he, along with Ordway, is being held up as representative. Nice.

Now, of course, for the piece de resistance, every national pundit's favorite Boston media "representative", Dan Shaughnessy.

"So now your Boston Red Sox have no center fielder, no shortstop, and no first baseman, to go along with no Theo Epstein and no clue," he wrote.

He also wrote: "The Red Sox won't recover from this one easily. In an already dismal offseason, they've now lost their center fielder and their leadoff hitter. They've also lost a local icon, a rare favorite of teenage girls and fanboy bloggers."

Okay. I thought I disliked the CHB before, but this...this takes it to a whole new level. Rockets it up into the stratosphere, in fact. My disgust for Dan Shaughnessy, with this quote alone, has officially entered a space normally reserved for Ann Coulter.

Let me count the ways:

The "No Theo and no clue" comment...do I really need to go into how richly ironic that is? Considering Shaughnessy is widely assigned a large portion of the credit for Theo's departure?

Having no CF, SS or 1B as of December 21 constitutes a "dismal" off-season? You know what, I think I'll refrain from storming Yawkey Way until they go into spring training with these positions unfilled--you know, about three months from now. What a maroon.

"The Red Sox won't recover from this easily"--Dan, like Ordway, apparently has a crystal ball. I must've left mine at home, but really, I think they very well could recover from it easily, by trading for Jeremy Reed, moving Pedroia to shortstop, and either plugging David Ortiz in at 1B for the time being or signing another utility player like Mientkiewicz. Regardless of what the moves are, THEY HAVE SEVERAL MORE MONTHS TO DO IT.

But it's this statement that really makes me feel as though I've swallowed a live chicken: "They've also lost a local icon, a rare favorite of teenage girls and fanboy bloggers." What a totally unecessary shot, first of all, at fans, something Dan Shaughnessy loves to do (remember his "no way to really insult Red Sox fans" during Mannygate). But what really puts a frosting of joy on this shit-cake of a sentence is, like the "no Theo" comment, the rich aura of irony. A very plausible translation (or further subordinate clause, if you will) might be "They've also lost a local icon, a rare favorite I haven't managed to find a way to destroy."

And yet, here in this MLB piece, Dan Shaughnessy, along with Ordway and Massarotti, are being held up as representative, once again, of the talk of the town in Boston.

Providence Journal sports editor Art Martone wrote, "Clearly irritated by the Sox' failure to offer him the contract he felt he deserved, Damon late last night reached preliminary agreement with the Yankees

This, too, though less irritatingly phrased, is a thread of conversation I've found disingenuous and aggravating. Johnny Damon defecting for more money is seen as a Sox failure? How do you figure? Like Pedro, they offered him what they could pay. He was greedier than that, and went elsewhere for more of the folding green. This is the first time this has ever happened in baseball, apparently. It surely is a singular failure on the part of the Sox brass that allowed this unprecedented debacle to take place.

But here's the most glaring, intelligence-insulting statement yet:

On television, Ch. 7, the local NBC affiliate, had one fan calling Damon a "traitor" and another one saying "He sold out." The station also had a report from New York, where Yankees fans were thrilled.

I'm sure there may be Yankees fans who are thrilled...but they're just not among the ones I've read / talked to, I guess. Like, for example, Jay Jaffe:

I'm pissed at the Damon signing, four years and $52 million, because it's back to business as usual for the Yanks. Damon is a 32-year-old centerfielder, A-list celebrity and Scott Boras client who was seeking a ridiculous seven-year deal that nobody was going to give him. Obviously, the Yanks called his bluff, going far beyond the Red Sox most recent four-year, $40 million offer, one the Sox never got the opportunity to match. So much for loyalty or Damon's words from last May...So now Damon will be handsomely overpaid to deteriorate right before our very eyes in Yankee Stadium. If you liked watching the decline and fall of Bernie Williams, get ready for more, because he's already as bad a thrower as Williams about five years ahead of schedule. In fact, per BP's numbers, he was at -5 runs last year, while the Yankee CFs, including Williams, were at -1. Yeesh.

Or, as referenced yesterday, YF of Yanksfan vs. Soxfan, and most of his commenters.

But, see, Red Sox fans being miserable and Yankees fans being thrilled is what some of these guys want to report, and from this piece it looks like they're going to--their minds are made up, so please don't confuse them with facts.

And finally...here, buried in the second to last graf of the story, is the following sentence:

On WEEI, some fans -- and one of the earlier hosts -- tried to put a positive spin on losing Damon.

Those words--"tried to"--it's amazing how two little words can change the entire slant of the statement, can't they?

December 21, 2005

As I'm sure everyone in the known universe knows by now, Johnny Damon, erstwhile leadoff hitter and center fielder for the Boston Red Sox, has officially sold out to the New York Yankees for a whopping $3 million more dollars a year.

The Yankees continued their trend of overpaying aging free agents to fill gaps in their system, which can only be good for the Red Sox long-term.

There are other good outfield possibilities remaining on the market, like Jeremy Reed (FB of the AL has a good piece on Reed's possible value to the Sox).

Imagine being Derek Jeter today. First the Yankees bring in another shortstop; then they bring in another leadoff hitter. Think he takes that as a great sign?

Yankees fans don't like it.

That's right, Yankees fans don't like it. They don't like Johnny Damon defensively, they don't like him age-wise, I'm sure many of them don't like the factor listed as #2 above, and, as YF put it last night, "He's one of THEM."

"Oh, no," I countered. "He just screwed over an entire fan base for 10 million more dollars. He's definitely one of YOU."

It's like Schrodinger's cat; this move breaks open Johnny Damon as a character. Before, he was either Red Sox or Yankee. Now, with this move, he proves himself Yankee, at least to a Red Sox sensibility (which is in itself another false superposition, but go with me here).

In a weird way, for me, the crassness of Johnny Damon in this situation makes it easier to deal with, well, the crassness of Johnny Damon. It seems a pitiful thing, to me, when already a multimillionaire athlete, to do something so patently damaging to one's image as switching between rival teams, especially when one has helped one's former team overcome the other so recently. Seeing Johnny Damon in pinstripes will of course turn a Sox fan's stomach, but it will also probably set a Yankees' fan's teeth on edge as well. Johnny Damon will never be the marketing chip in New York he had been in Boston--precious few Yankees fans will be running around sporting pink #18 tees anytime soon. As such, Johnny Damon probably just cost himself $3 million in marketing royalties just by being a shallow, materialistic dickhead.

Then again, no one has ever accused Johnny Damon of being a terribly bright guy.

In general, though, aside from the fact that Damon has never been my favorite, I like to think I've grown a bit thicker skin of late, especially after Theo (this in no way even falls on the same pain scale), and as I wrote in one of my post-Theo entries,

though we are reminded too often of their foundation in a corruptible world of business, the Red Sox still are something that belongs to us. If our fathers and grandfathers and great-grandfathers could hang on to that part of the Red Sox that belongs to us, and only to us--the cultural phenomenon, the social institution--through the Yawkey Era, then I can find an acceptable way to continue as a Red Sox fan despite the departure of Theo Epstein, with a World Series fresh in my memory (in anyone's memory!).

A SoSH poster quoted by Mer in the Never Ending Email Thread (tm) last night said, "every time I see him hit those homers [in Game 7], i'm going to think that this is the Judas who turned against the team and joined the MFYs two years later."

I could not disagree more. It's not as if the Red Sox winning in 2004 changed the fundamental nature of baseball--there are still going to be trades and free agent signings and there are going to be examples of both of those we don't like. Good luck to you if that puts a damper on your appreciation of 2004.

The fact is, 2004 remains beautiful--in fact, is probably made more beautiful--in the face of the return to the norm that has taken place since. Of course The Twenty-Five didn't all stay in town forever. I, for one, never assumed that was part of the deal.

Baseball players are greedy. Many of them are emotionally and intellectually stunted individuals, conditioned throughout their lives to develop physical skills over the mental and social variety, and richly rewarded for their innate physical talents over their worth as individuals. I have come to realize of late that where baseball is exalted and noble is within us. Not them.

It was our faith that was rewarded in 2004, not the players'. Not the owners. Not anyone with their grubby paws on the revenue baseball produces as an industry. Us--our hopes, our dreams, our projections and fantasies. Where our imagination fills in the gaps, that's where baseball's magic lies.

What's good and pure and whole about baseball is in us. Not them.

Roger Angell called it The Interior Stadium. I think Stan Isaacs put it best, writing in Newsday in April 1990:

I don't love baseball. I don't love most of today's players. I don't love the owners. I do love, however, the baseball that is in the heads of baseball fans. I love the dreams of glory of 10-year-olds, the reminiscences of 70-year-olds. The greatest baseball arena is in our heads, what we bring to the games, to the telecasts, to reading newspaper reports.

So, you're saying. What does all this have to do with Johnny Damon?

My point exactly.

________________________________________Recommended further reading from the "Feh" camp: Kristen's post on the matter, of which I agree with 99.9%.

December 20, 2005

"OK, so the Chargers were pretty damn good yesterday," said a commenter at Kristen's on Monday, "But I know, I KNOW, that part of the cause of Peyton's happy feet, jittery eyes and flop-sweat slicked hands was seeing the Bucs put up a big doughnut at Foxborough.

"He knows it's coming. The pain's coming."

And it's true that, whether spoken or not, the thought has at least crossed virtually every football fan's mind this month, the thought that a truly apocalyptic Colts-Pats matchup may actually take place this year, a matchup that would surely go down, regardless of outcome, as an offical Game for the Ages (tm).

The rivalry between the Colts and the Patriots is already germinating at an astonishing rate given the vagaries of the salary-capped, parity-friendly NFL. It hasn't quite hit Red Sox - Yankees proportions yet, but it has the potential to do so. Key to the rivalry's ascension to epic status would be a matchup in 2005.

This is because the matchup between the teams would be more even than at any time in recent memory, conflations and non sequiturs by the national sports pundits in past years aside. In the past, the Colts got lots of (undue) attention for a glitzy offense; this year, they have the defense to back it up. That, and not their 13-0 start against a mostly pathetic schedule, is what makes them a true threat this year.

Meanwhile, the Patriots' rocky road early in the season and question marks in the secondary have brought vulnerability to what had been an insurmountable obstacle for the Colts' pass-happy offense in past years.

Add to that a hobbled Brady, a Colts team that just had its win streak snapped, the weight of history in favor of the Patriots and a Colts team that no one seriously believes will be denied forever, and a head-to-head matchup this postseason, which would have to come in the second round, is enough to make any "right-thinking football fan", as TMQ would say, salivate.

If this matchup occurs, and the Colts win, they'll have finally gotten the monkey off their back in a big way--facing down their chief nemesis for the right to finally go to the Super Bowl where, as in past years, the AFC will almost undoubtedly dominate. If the Colts are able to finally overcome the Patriots, they'd be all but wearing Super Bowl rings.

If this game happens and the Patriots win, they'll have knocked off the pretenders to the throne despite a season full of maximum hype for Indy--and may finally put Brady / Manning comparisons to rest once and for all. And they might be on their way to an historic three-peat, which, when you consider the way this season started, would be an absolute miracle for the history books.

FootballOutsiders' analysis of the Colts-Chargers game highlights a number of the vulnerabilities in the Colts that it exposed, and all of them are gaps into which many New England strengths fit quite nicely. Particularly this one:

The Indianapolis offense is a timing and precision offense. The offensive line is only forced to hold blocks for a short period of time before Manning gets the ball out to one of his talented receivers. San Diego’s pressure coupled with aggressive, physical man-to-man play by their cornerbacks completely upset the timing of the Colts offense. The much-maligned Chargers secondary is vulnerable if the pass rush fails to materialize — the Colts did complete five passes over twenty yards — but no receiver got behind the defense for a quick-strike touchdown.

The obvious comparison with the Patriots is not lost on FO:

The Patriots sport a similar active front to the Chargers, and with their recent play, a potential second-round match-up is very intriguing.

Still, they proclaim the Colts "still the best team in the league" and seem to feel they'd still dispatch the Patriots.

Granted, you have to take my opinion as a New England fan with a generous helping of salt (perhaps a whole shaker), but I have to disagree.

Because at the end of the Chargers / Colts game, I saw something that made me smile.

4th quarter, Indianapolis behind 19 to 17--the game still in reach. Peyton Manning drove all the way down to the San Diego 23, and it looked like Indianapolis was coming back. Even if there'd been no gain on the next two plays, they'd have been well within Vanderjagt's range, and could have gone ahead, 20-19.

What happened next, though, was the best demonstration of why I'm not going to buy into the Peyton Manning hype until his "greatness" is proven to me otherwise: Manning, being rushed by the aforementioned "disruptive" SD defensive front, threw to nowhere, and was tagged for an intentional grounding penalty, taking it from second and nine well within striking range to 3 and 21 just outside it. On that 3 and 21 play, Manning was sacked for another loss, forcing an Indianapolis punt.

It was that intentional grounding penalty, I maintain, that cost Manning the chance to remain perfect--and the mentality that caused it, an impatience, an unwillingness to take a sack, and most of all a breakdown in mental discipline, that's still Manning's most crippling flaw, one that is undiminished by this season's record, and one that both he and his team will have to overcome if they're to finally reach the Promised Land this season, whether or not they face the Patriots in the process.

So far, especially while watching the Chargers game, I have seen nothing that convinces me this flaw in Manning has been solved.

Don't agree? That's ok. But for just a moment, please seriously consider a scenario in which Tom Brady, two points behind in the fourth quarter of a crucial game, deep in his opponent's territory, suffers a mental lapse of that magnitude.

Can't do it? Neither can I.

But no one's going to realize this, especially not on the national stage, until and unless a side-by-side demonstration happens. A postseason matchup this season might just prove to be the evidence that settles the Manning-Brady debate once and for all. That's why I hope it happens. That's why, if you're a fan of either New England or Indianapolis, you should hope it happens, too.

FB of the AL has a great list up right now of his top ten favorite Red Sox of all time. Always one to steal a gimmick, here I go with mine. Feel free to add yours in the comments or track back to this post.

My lineup (plus one):

10. Carlton Fisk: Pudge only ranks so low on his list because I never actually got to see him play. But that's the only reason--and, somewhat nonsensically, it's one of my biggest regrets in life. I'm just drawn to Pudge, and that's all there is to it. He's my kind of player--tough, intense, and just a little bit dour and moody.

Sometimes I think about the places I'd go if I had a time machine, and this night, October 21, 1975, would certainly be one of them. I would, of course, have some of the surprise ruined for me--I imagine I'd be wiggling in my seat from the seventh inning on. I might be appalled at the differences between the Fenway crowd then and now. I'd stick out like a sore thumb for many reasons; I might even need a place to hide if I wanted to watch the game in peace. I'd have to resist the extreme temptation to bring along my own camera.

But I'd do it anyway. I'd go, and find a way into the park (in fact, I've imagined doing this so many times I actually feel cheated when I realize that I really can't). I'd sit there and watch that home run hit the pole, christen it Fisk's, watch him do the dance I have memorized by now--"Get over! Get OVER!" I'd watch him plow his way through the onrushing crowd to round the bases. I'd stand and cheer, clapping with my hands in the air like I did when he waved from the Legends box, as if he'd recognize me applauding.

9. Bill Mueller - Quiet, humble, and the only man to hit back-to-back switch-hit grand slams in a single game. I watched that game, and fell in love then and there with Bill Mueller. I loved every detail of the soft-spoken third baseman, from his knack for late-inning heroics against Mariano Rivera to the way he chewed his gum. He was a player perfect for people interested in subtleties and details--he never announced himself, never even approached the bombast of Kevin Millar or the megawattage of David Ortiz. He was there if you looked for him, though, our hidden gem, our secret weapon.

I am going to miss him so terribly.

8. Nomar Garciaparra - Things are sour now, but in that magical year of 2003, I loved Nomar. Nomar was in pictures all over my desk. Nomar was the face of the team. It's almost impossible to explain, that Nomar-love, especially since the relationship went south, but we all felt it.

It comes back to me when I look at this picture:

What a year that was, 2003. It's nearly inextricable from 2004 now, but it was also, in many ways, its own animal, with its own brand of hunger and anticipation and even innocence. Nomar was the face of that year, and more often than not, his face looked like the above--hollering in vindication and triumph, leading us toward the Promised Land.

7. Roger Clemens - Now, hear me out.

When I was six years old, I loved Roger Clemens in a way I'd never loved anyone not a part of my family before. In a way I'd never loved any celebrity (with the possible exception of Oscar the Grouch) before. Roger Clemens was the first athlete that seemed like God to me.

Yeah, yeah, all that stuff happened--but in some ways you can't deny that even now, Roger Clemens sometimes still seems like God disguised as a baseball pitcher. He's going to go down in history that way, I think--beyond teams and contract disputes and controversies, just one of the greatest pitchers who ever lived, period.

6. Dwight Evans - More than any other player, Dwight Evans, toward the end of his career with the Red Sox, is a staple and a symbol of my childhood. My favorite anecdote about him opened this popular post earlier this year:

Dwight Evans came to the plate to bat. "Now batting-atting-atting..." the PA boomed, sounding like the voice of the Wizard of Oz, "Number twenty-four-our-our-our...the right-right fielder-eilder...Dwight-whight-whight-whight-Evans-evans-evans."

I was too young to know about Evans' batting average, his fielding statistics, his on-base percentage, his performance against the particular pitcher he was now facing. All that stuff came later.

But I knew what a "boo" was. I heard it often at Fenway Park, from the men who slopped beer onto my shoulder from the seats behind us, or the old men scrawling with their tiny pencils in their programs and chewing on cigars.

I turned to my father, and in retrospect the question was as filled with a kid's innocence and trust as any I have ever heard or witnessed--"Why are they booing him, Dad?"

My dad laughed. He said sidelong out of the right corner of his mouth, not looking away from the matter at hand, of course, "They're not booing. They're saying 'Dew'."

I listened again. Gradually I was able to pick out the subtle difference. "Dooooooo..." was what they were saying--the abbreviated version of Evans' nickname, "Dewey." Not "boo."

"Dooooo!" I piped, glancing up at my father for his approval. He finally looked down into my face and smiled. Thus rewarded, I attacked cheering for Dewey with my whole heart.

"DOOO!!!" I kept yelling, long after Evans had returned to the dugout. "DOO!!"

Dewey Evans was no one to me. I didn't know about his heroics in the 1975 World Series. I didn't know about Carlton Fisk's home run. I didn't even know about Bill Buckner's disastrous error. I was actually still kind of working on the difference between a foul ball and a hit.

But what I knew was that, for a reason I couldn't articulate, I loved Dwight Evans. And that somewhere in the back of my mind it had something to do with how much I loved my father.

That's how it starts. That's how people grow attached to a certain player...[growing] up near Boston, hearing your father cheer for Dewey...

5. Wade Boggs - While my Dad led me to Dwight Evans, Wade Boggs was probably the first player I loved totally on my own. Wade was "my guy" when we'd go to the park back when I was still in elementary school. Another guy I've already written about, when he was elected to the Hall of Fame:

Wade was the biggest of the big deals to me. I became known in my family for liking Wade. The kind of thing where, when he'd come up to bat, my parents would nudge me and say "there's your guy!" and I'd yell "Wade! Wade!" from the bleachers as if he'd hear me in the batters' box.

I didn't know anything, you see, about cocaine or chicken or sex addiction or spousal abuse or infidelity--to one's spouse, to one's team to go to "the dreaded Yanks." It just seemed like every time I went to the park, Wade Boggs the third baseman would hit a home run and make a really nice play in the field. He was reliable like that. I liked him best. That was it.

4. Big Papi - Our MVP, three years running; so cuddly and always cheerful...if a little bit of you wouldn't do pretty much anything for David Ortiz, you probably have no heart.

I have a rich imagined life with David Ortiz, too. As I wrote in my IBW post on this matter:

David Ortiz and I go out to dinner at hip but not too swanky restaurants in downtown Boston, and swap stories over long meals. He pounds the table so hard sometimes he breaks glassware.

David Ortiz and I sit on the couch in his living room and watch Caddyshack, passing a big bowl of buttered popcorn back and forth.

David Ortiz and I wind up wasted on too many nights to count, sometimes in the company of Manny, laughing and laughing and laughing.

Other times, David Ortiz and I sit down and have a heart-to-heart, and he is always wise and kind.

David Ortiz and I run into each other sometimes, and he greets me with a huge grin and a huge hug and he says, "What's up, baby?"

David Ortiz and I walk down the sidewalk, and everyone gets out of our way.

3. Dave Roberts - The top three really could be put in the opposite order, depending on the day. Consider the top three in random order--there are days when Dave Roberts is my favorite Red Sox of all time. If you pick just one play and one player to represent the miracle that was the Red Sox' 2004 comeback against the Yankees, it was Dave Roberts, and his steal in Game 4. That's what started it all--that was the biggest single play in the drive to the pennant. Dave Roberts, backup outfielder and bench guy, will always be among the most famous Red Sox of all time, and among the most beloved despite what could be called a minimal role.

Basically? If you're a Red Sox fan, you know who Dave Roberts is, and you love him. If you're not, you don't understand.

2. Keith Foulke - Keith Foulke is, to me, the Once and Future Red Sox, and like Dave Roberts, is number one some days, too. Keith Foulke is the reason we finally won the World Series, and also the reason we didn't win in 1986--a balls-to-the-wall, tough-as-nails closer, a closer, as Johnny Damon put it, "who just doesn't give a shit." Keith Foulke is also, considering his role in the 2004 Championship, one of the most underappreciated players in Red Sox history, from the fact that he was passed over for the World Series MVP award he so richly deserved to his reception in 2005. At least, that's how it seemed to me, and so I took up his cause with a vengeance this past season, and in so doing became ever more deeply attached to him, to the point where I will give you a half-hour lecture on what he means to Red Sox history if you give me half a chance, even if you've heard it already. Even if you've heard it already two or three times and beg me to stop. Keith Foulke is more than one of my favorite ballplayers ever--he's my cause, my crusade, my talking point. I am prepared to be unfathomably obnoxious when it comes to Keith Foulke.

1. Curt Schilling - Again, these top three are interchangeable in many ways, but today is a Curt Schilling day, and so, if forced to pick one #1 Red Sox ever, it's Curt Schilling, because he did exactly what he said he would do--ride into town on a white horse and save us. He did it in his first year with the team and he sacrificed his body on two unforgettable nights in October to do so. In fact, it's still too soon to tell if he sacrificed his entire future career to bring us the Championship we craved so much, and did so willingly, knowing the possible risks and consequences.

I don't care what anyone says about his bluster or the fact that he seeks the spotlight--I'll never in my life forget what he did for us in Games 6 and 2, and it'll never stop being the single biggest gift any Red Sox player has ever given me as a fan.

Statcounter C2F

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